Life Is But A Dream
by blacktears
Summary: Dreams are when the subconcious becomes the master...


Disclaimer: yeah, not my characters and situations, don't sue me.  
  
note: Nort's POV  
  
LIFE IS BUT A DREAM  
  
  
You never disapeared completely. Even when you collasped, gaping hole in the back of your head, even then I felt your presence, deep down inside me. I knew you were there. I know you've been waiting. Don't hide from me-I am in conrtol now.  
  
My eyes opened and I was awake without the pleasant in-between feeling I was used to. Beside me, Marla was lost in the webs of sleep, curling into a little ball like a fetus. I'd been with her four, nearly five, months now, an I still couldn't get used to her sleeping beside me...and I still couldn't look at her without thinking about HIM. Him. Me. Sometimes things were still jumbled in my brain-I definatly thought about Tyler as a seperate person, even still.   
  
Pushing the coarse blankets off my body, I stood and streched. Things had died down somewhat in the recent months. Me and the boys had gone underground-we were forced to really...Even though the economy crashed and anarchy took a weak hold on our society, the government still found time enough on their hands to hunt us.   
  
So I was now living in another dilapidated house, sleeping on a dead matress that lay on the floor. The remaining members of Project Mayham occupided various other rooms, and once a week, we'd hold Fight Club in the basement. Perhaps to some, it would seem that things hadn't really changed all that much...but those people would be wrong. After brining the corperate world to it's knees, I began the slow process of erasing some of the bullshit that Tyler had put in his follower's minds. They WERE people...They WERE unique and special...They DID have names.   
  
With a last glance at Marla, lying half covered in bed, a small line of drool trailing down her chin, I left the room and padded downstairs, tying the ratty flannel bathrobe around my waste as I did. Downstairs, the House of Anarchy, as we called it, was already awake; bustling with black-clad bodies. One of the younger men, whose name, I'd learned when we fled, was Jason, spotted me and jumped to his feet. He approached me, and I noticed the scent of coffee wafting from the chipped mug in his hand. "Here, sir," he said, handing the mug to me. They wouldn't stop wearing black...and they wouldn't stop calling me sir. Oh well, it didn't matter that much, not now at least.  
  
"thanks." I muttered as I accepted the coffee and took a sip. It was bitter with the faint aftertaste of alcohol. Perfect. With a smile that was more a grimance in Jason's direction I started through the house. Eyes turn towards me and a few random greetings are called out, but no one tries to start conversation, and for that I'm greatful. I have a lot on my mind this morning...The past...and Tyler.  
  
I'm kidding myself if I say that Tyler isn't on my mind often. Every waking moment; with every dream; with each breath, I think of him. But today was different, and I'm not sure I can explain how. It seems...almost like he is around again, like he's risen from the recesses of my mind with a smile to go steal fat and make soap, or perhaps to shatter all the work I'd done on restoration with one quick stroke. Is that why I was wondering around the house so aimlessly? Was I searching for him, or hiding? Did I expect him to jump out of the shadows, with a smile on his face and malice in his heart? Perhaps not malice to me...he'd never really had malice towards me, after all we were one and the same...but malice to society and the pig fuckers who ran it.   
  
I force my feet to stop walking and take a large swallow of the spiked coffee. I'm in the living room so I sit down, ignoring the other men that sat on the couches, eyes glue on a TV someone had stolen for the house. The news is on-the news is always almost on-and I let my mind wander into oblivion, riding on the broadcaster's calm voice, much like I had during guided meditation.  
  
"The search for the terrorists that caused the destruction of numerous buildings downtown continues...the police report that the bad likely fled the state and..." Blah blah. They won't find us. A small smile creeps onto my face. They weren't likely to search as close to civilization as we were holed up. But let them waste their time...it gave us a chance to relax before planning our next move. Yes, next move. Nothing ended completely with the explosion. People still went about their corperate-run lives, drinking cappicino and shopping at chain stores...we were still hunted and still lived with our own stresses and beliefs. We had to have a next move, if only for our continued survival.   
  
I leaned back in the dying chair, pondering; examining my mind for the answer. There is no end...so there is no answer. Forcibly, I shove the thoughts from my mind, making it as blank as I could. Damn the insomnia...it left me so drained. Fuck it, I needed a walk.  
  
I stand, leaving the chipped mug on the arm of the chair and move swiftly out of the house. Outside the air is cool, and the sun tries gallently to shine through the thick fog that blankets the damp earth. As I walk away from the House of Anarchy, I can taste humanity in the air-civilization was too near by. Ha. Funny coming from me-or who I used to be...the modern, poster consumer, now wanting to live isolated in the woods with some friends off the very salt of the earth?  
  
"I don't find that funny," I whirl, the world around my a grey blur as I catch sight of him. He's standing, hands in his pockets, head still bald...but there is something different this time. This time, he can't convince me that he's real...he couldn't convince anyone that he's real. I can see through his suede jacket, see the barren road behind him.   
  
"Why are you here?" My voice sounds cold and brittle to my ears...I thought I'd killed him...?   
  
"You can't kill your other half, Nort," he said. His voice was distant to my ears, as though he weren't really there. "And to answer your question, I simply came for guidence, nothing more."  
  
"Guidence?" Disbelief colored my voice.   
  
He sauntered towards me. "Guidence," he repeated, right into my face this time. He had no breath...no scent. "I'm GUIDING you that you should move on...leave your little house of anarchy. The authorities will find it eventually-besides, it's not what you want." he shrugged, walking away from me. He was circling me now, like a scavenger bird over some juicy morsel of carrion. "Your uncertainty isn't strong enough for me to truly be back," he murmered. "But if you continue on your current path, I will be...."  
  
I turn, my mouth open to contest his words, but he's not there. All that greats me is the fog, eddying in little patterns from my turning. A frown is my lips as I consider the odd encounter. Of course I dreamed it...but to waht extent. Was is truly a dream, a reflection of my thoughts...or did my mind break into two parts again, and re-birth Tyler? What had I dreamed of last night? Somehow the vague memories seemed vitally important at that time...  
  
"It doesn't matter," I whisper to myself, starting back to the house. And it didn't matter...not then. As for Tyler's advice...we'd leave sometime, but not just yet. I still had some of his damage to undo.  
  
  
TBC  
  
  
Note: damn, I liked writing this! Wai! Reveiw please? And can you think of a better name? 


End file.
